manicpixiedreamgirl (26 page)

I pull the magazine off the windshield and turn to my story. There’s a pink sticky note pasted below the title.

Thought you might want this back. Take care
.

The note, written in Sydney’s careful script, is signed
Pink Floyd
. With a smiley face.

She gave it back. Didn’t destroy it, didn’t throw it in my face. Just gave it back.

At first, I’m grateful. Of course I wanted it back.

And, of course, she knew exactly where to find me. The headlights I saw in Becky’s window belonged to a certain white Sentra. Suddenly, I’m not quite so grateful. I spend
one second being pissed at Sydney, but only one second. After that, I’m just an asshole, plain and simple.

Off to the side, I see Becky’s bedroom light go out. I whisper good night and get into my car, dropping the copy of
LQR
on the seat beside me.

“I’m sorry,” I say out loud. Mostly to Sydney. I know it’s not enough. Even if … even when I talk to Sydney again, it won’t be enough. But I have to say it anyway.

“I kissed Becky Webb,” I say out loud. To see how it sounds. And even though it was what I always wanted, even though it was as sweet as in my dreams, I never wanted it to happen like this.

I held her as she cried.

I say it only in my head. Because I wish now I hadn’t needed to. I wish none of this had happened.

My character Becky is gone forever. Burned out of existence just as quickly as if Sydney had set fire to the magazine. Or is it that she never did exist?

I start up the car and drive.

When I get home, I head for my room. Mom and Dad are asleep. Gabrielle’s door is open partway, her TV on low, casting the room in gray-blue shadow. She turns her head as I walk past.

“Hey!” Gabby says. I stop, come back, lean against the doorjamb.

“
So?
How’s it
go
ing?” Gabby sings. “What’s
up
, where ya
been
, whatcha been
up
to, who you
been
with, what’s
happenin’ …
?”

“Sydney called you, didn’t she.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“So now I’m an asshole.”

“Maybe not asshole. Idiot, yes.”

“I just came from Becky’s house.”

“Okay,
now
you’re an asshole.”

“I kissed her.”

“… Oh. So. How’d that go?”

“Awesome. Beautiful. You know what? Everything I ever wanted, I got tonight.”

“Uh … and what’s on
that
little shopping list, hmm?”

“It wasn’t like that. Well—okay, it was almost like that, but no. We only kissed. Twice. That’s all.”

“I don’t see you bouncing off any walls or turning any cartwheels, bro.”

“We might talk tomorrow,” I say, not responding to Gabby’s observation. My head is going in too many directions, like thumbing through the pages of a book. “And maybe—maybe we’re going to start going out. Or if not tomorrow, soon. Like, boyfriend-girlfriend, you know?”

“Vaguely familiar with the terms, yes.”

“I really hurt Sydney,” I say. I’m not sure I’m talking to Gabby or myself.

“Yeah. You really did.”

“But I don’t love her. I mean, I care about her, I do, but I’m not in love with her.”

“Oh, well, that’s a solid reason to date someone for two years. Idiot. I just say that in case you missed it the first time.”

“She’s not in love with me, either, Gabby.”

“How do you know that?”

“She never said it!”

“
Said?
Are you … Wow, Tyler. I just lost all my big-sister cred for not having taught you about women better than that.”

I don’t reply, because we both know I don’t have to.

“So what do I do?” I ask. “About Becky. If—if—she wants to go out, that’s, like, my dream come true.”

“According to the transcript, you said you already got everything you ever wanted.”

Right. Did say that. So then …

No. Too tired.

“I’m going to bed,” I say.

“You’re not telling me everything, Ty.”

“Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It’s kind of messy.”

“So’s your face.”

We both smile, and both stop. I stare into middle space. I can sense my sister watching me.

After a moment, I say, “It’s not going to work, is it.”

“With Becky?”

“Yeah.”

Gabrielle presses her lips together and says nothing.

I pull myself away from the doorjamb. “G’night,” I say.

“Night, Ty.”

I go into my bedroom, shut the door, take off my clothes, and giggle a little at the seemingly distant memory of them piling up on Becky Webb’s floor just a little while ago.

And that’s all it takes to convince me.

I love Becky Webb. Always have. I think I always will. And she is one of my best friends. Which is why I can’t be anything more to her, not now. Not knowing what I know.

Robby was right; riding in on a white horse isn’t going to help. But maybe being her friend will.

And that’s okay. For now.

I pull on sweatpants and climb shirtless under a single sheet. My head feels like it’s the size and weight of the complete works of Shakespeare, heavy and angular, pulling me deep into the pillow.

Drifting into sleep, I remember Becky still has the other copy of the
LQR
.

The magazine with my published story inside.

It starts on page seventeen.

Named after a character in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.

It’s about a girl.

TOM LEVEEN
has been involved with live theater as an actor and director since 1988, and was the artistic director and cofounder of two theater companies. Tom is a native of Arizona, where he lives with his wife and son. He is also the author of
Party
and
Zero
. You can visit him at
tomleveen.com
.